I have fond memories of Haxen**; Ribbchen*** und (Sauer)Kraut; Blutwurst**** exploding in the pan of boiling water; Apfelwoi***** out of the jug or better still from the tap in the kitchen while I washed the dishes; pork 'crackling' from the Haxen sandwiched between great chunks of Bauernbrot******; Sliwovitz******* in its distinctively shaped bottle or Korn********, both in quantities sufficient to pickle my still juvenile liver. Ah, happy days!
I also managed to find my way to the Eisernesteg (the iron footbridge across the River Main, pronounced Mine) which saw many a staggering and unsteady promenade as I found my way back after a night at my second favourite bar which sold Bavarian Bock bier, rich and dark and guaranteed to get you hammered in short order!
I next went north to the little village of Cleeberg in the Taunus, although there did not seem to be a 'street view;, it is only a little village, so I had to content myself with digging out a couple of photographs taken back in the early eighties.
It is, I think a cause for deep regret that I lost all contact with the particular individuals associated with these places; especially as they were so very kind to me. I do sometimes wonder if I should not ever have embraced the rat-race and the pursuit of something which vaguely resembled a career and not just simply continued to bum around relying on the generosity of strangers and friends alike but we make our own bed and it is we who must ultimately lie in it!
So here is a brief photographic souvenir of more carefree days when the burdens of a mortgage, a seven-days-a-week job, the care of ageing parents and the fall-out from one too many failed relationships did not loom so large on my horizons and did not impinge so on my psyche:
The bar as it appears now, having been renamed 'Plateau'; no longer a bar/restaurant but a live music venue. The garage, which used to belong to the bar and the residents of the apartments above, is now an Irish theme 'pub'. The old, and immensely tall, wooden gates, through which you gained access to the apartments above, are no more. The memory of that kiss at those gates no longer has anything tangible to hold it fast and it will now fade, I fear, whether I will it or no. The bars to the left of the photograph have no doubt changed but 'Struwwelpeter'********* is still there; no doubt still ripping of the tourists as it ever did.
The bar, 'Das Schwalbennest' - the swallow's nest - as it was in 1972. The 'Apfelwoi' jug can be clearly seen on the counter, in its cradle', it was far too heavy, full of Apfelwoi, to be lifted unaided. The beer pump is Henninger, of well-known-landmark-tower fame, the schnapps was behind the bar and the kitchen behind that. The legend over the bar roughly translates as: "A little loving, a little drinking, a little eating should make for happy memories."
The village of Cleeberg as seen on an overcast and dreary day from a hill just outside the village. I truly wish that I had photographs of it in the sunshine; it was so picaresque and beautiful.
The house, where I stayed, and some of the adjoining out-buildings, shot from the 'Alte Gasse', the 'old alleyway', just outside of the stables which were to the left as you see it.
The bar in the basement to the building shown in the foreground of the above photograph. The animal skins are real. Note the solitary beer pump; 'Licher Bier' if I remember correctly.
And, into this mix of adolescent fantasy and adult reality, I wish to stir in, mix on my palette, the real sense of youth, the feeling that "they can't catch me'........................ 'cause if you get too close, you know I'm gone like a cool breeze!' So, I give you the artist, in his 'studio', toiling away at his art; Malcom Goodson and his mentor 'M. Felix le Chat':
In the 'studio', Felix offering guidance whispered into the artist's ear. The picture is of a cuckoo, painted in watercolour, on CS10 board; a prototype for a print. The castle behind the artist was a twice scale, in pen and ink, rendition of Christian Jank's watercolour sketch of 'Schloß Falkenstein' for Ludwig II of Bavaria.
Someone once wrote of my sage and teacher, for an exhibition of the painting, I think:
"The artist, Malcolm Goodson, pictured here with his mentor and long-time partner, the late Felix Le Chat, has no formal training in art (or anything else for that matter). Concentrating exclusively on birds, painted in a detailed and precise style in watercolour, his work hangs as far afield as Bermuda, the USA, Germany, and London, SW9. (As well as his mum's house.)
Rescued from obscurity, and alcoholic oblivion, by M. Le Chat in 1983, the artist was tutored for many years by Felix. The artist now owes his not inconsiderable skills in staying out all night, catching mice, playing with balls of wool and peeing in the bath to M. Le Chat's excellent and generous patronage. Any skill that the artist may have acquired in painting is entirely accidental and fortuitous and is his own responsibility."
Fear not, gentle reader, for the brevity of this post; copious footnotes follow! I apologise for going back on my word to steer clear of foreign language titles but I could not resist.
PS I no longer wear the ring, the reasons for which, if you read from 2008 (!), should be clear, although never in plain view!
* Affentorplatz, literaly 'monkey gate square', has no connection with monkeys. Up until the early 19th century, there was a gate in the city wall called 'Affentor' on this site. However, the 'Affen' of the name may relate to Asch-affen-burg (castle on the ash river), the road to which the gate gave access to. I remember on my first visit to Frankfurt, I became 'lost'. 'Could you direct me to Affentorplatz?' I asked a sweet, young lady. 'You're standing in it," she replied. You see, I may not always know where I am but I always am where I should be!
** Haxen, the forelegs of pigs, or wild boar if you can get them. Slow roasted so that the fat turns crisp; absolutely divine!
*** Ribbchen, (little ribs). Pork chops like you have never seen; twice as thick and twice as large as in the UK.
**** Blutwurst (blood sausage) is the German equivalent of 'Black Pudding'.
***** Apfelwoi=Apfelwein=cider. THE drink of Sachsenhausen and a source of much profit for those who keep bars. In 1973, wholesale, Apfelwoi cost DM 0.75 per litre, retail DM 0.75 per quarter litre!
****** Bauernbrot, literally 'farmer's bread', is bread baked from sour dough, circular and roughly 18" or more in diameter. The tourists got the edges, I got the middle! Filled with Haxen fat! (NB: pre-stroke days!)
******* Plum 'brandy'. Ubiquitous throughout Eastern Europe. I think Serbian is best, although I have only tried Polish, Bulgarian, Croatian and Serbian! The Serbian comes in quite distinctive, wonderful bottles.
*********Struwwelpeter, 'shock-headed Peter', a well known character from Heinrich Hoffmann's 'cautionary tales'. The poem, in English and German versions, complete with original illustration all courtesy of Project Gutenberg, is below:
Just look at him! there he
stands,
With his nasty hair and hands.
See! his nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see Shock-headed Peter.
With his nasty hair and hands.
See! his nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see Shock-headed Peter.
But if you would prefer it in German:
Sieh einmal, hier steht er,
pfui, der Struwwelpeter!
An den Händen beiden
ließ er sich nicht schneiden
seine Nägel fast ein Jahr;
kämmen ließ er nicht sein Haar.
Pfui, ruft da ein jeder:
Gargster Struwwelpeter!
pfui, der Struwwelpeter!
An den Händen beiden
ließ er sich nicht schneiden
seine Nägel fast ein Jahr;
kämmen ließ er nicht sein Haar.
Pfui, ruft da ein jeder:
Gargster Struwwelpeter!
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